


I Would Give This Song a Title, But You Won't Appreciate It Anyway, So Fuck It, Here's One For You

by SquishiChaos



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Andrew being Andrew, F/F, F/M, Kevin putting his faith in Neil, M/M, Multi, Nicky may or may not have a crush on Riko and Kevin, Rated M because of Andrew really, Riko Moriyama as an evil singer, Seth Gordon Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:40:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24238183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SquishiChaos/pseuds/SquishiChaos
Summary: If only his mom could see him now, Neil was sure she would kill him twice over, but it was already too late.  He was going to be a star and Kevin Day, with his band of Angry musicians and scorned players was going to get him there, regardless of what Riko Moriyama or his Father had to say about it.
Relationships: Allison Reynolds/Renee Walker (All For The Game), Katelyn/Aaron Minyard, Matt Boyd/Danielle "Dan" Wilds, Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	1. Song 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Celestial_Seraphim and My attempt at a Band AU! We have a lot of fun planned for you guys in the chapters to come, so I hope you enjoy!

If his Mom could see him now, Neil was _sure_ she’d be pissed. Mary Hatford wasn’t exactly known for being docile and sweet. She’d take one look at the dingy club he was hiding out in and get that disapproving look that said he was two wrong explanations from getting the bad ideas beaten out of him. She’d look at the drink voucher held white-knuckled in his hand and the grim line of his lips, then say, _you know better. You’re going to get us killed_ , with the weight of someone who was very, _very_ sure and very, _very_ right. 

Neil knew this. He knew the tiny nightclub hosting tonight’s seventeenth open mic night since the summer began was not a good place to blend and hide, but even still, the moment he had seen the sign-up sheet hanging on the window outside, his hand had reached for a pen before he could stop it and written a fake name on the dotted line in a handwriting that, with practice, wasn’t his own. That was a death sentence, his mom would’ve reminded him--if she was alive to. But she wasn’t, and the weight of being alone in another city without a single contact to call in for backup had bled desperation out to the longing for something like fun before he kicked the bucket. 

Maybe he was getting tired of running. Perhaps, he was simply done watching the world rush by while he scraped through with the bare minimum life had to offer. If he looked at his binder, hidden deep in the folded clothes stuffed haphazardly into his single duffel bag, he knew he’d see the real reason. But he didn’t dwell on that, not when he was number twenty-five and the club was already on slot twenty-two. 

Three more performers and he’d be up on the stage, his voice at the mic, singing his woes away to another unknowing crowd. He preferred street performing because it guaranteed money, but this guaranteed a crowd. Crowds were good for hiding in, even if the clientele of the club certainly weren’t. He didn’t think a single person in here knew what it meant to live a life like Neil. A part of him that was somehow still selfless after a very selfish, torrid life, kinda hoped they never did. 

He kept to himself near the rear of the club, standing amongst the line waiting to use the bathroom. Shoulders bumped and prodded to maintain their space amidst the madness, staggering him between one tall body and the next. The stale scent of alcohol and urine was pungent tonight, mingling with the sweat and cheap cologne of his peers. Cold beer bottles hung from various hands, open and wet with condensation while the patrons all listened and swayed with the girl on stage. She was good, if not a bit nervous. Her voice shook on a note here or there, but she kept time in her cover and wasn’t afraid to let the rhythm take her away. She finished with a few soft acoustic riffs on her guitar and smiled widely at the crowd. 

Neil clapped with the best of them, feigning polite disinterest in his fellow competition even as his mind raced. Where were the exits? He positioned himself where he could see each one and keep tabs on who entered and left. It was still early for a city, only minutes to ten, with plenty of hours to go before the real fun began. Tonight, a special band was set to play after the final contestant went on, and the hype had a legitimate following waiting to see just who this surprise performance would be by. He was, too. Rumor said it might be a very important person--one not known for visiting local clubs. 

He didn’t want to think it was possible, but the throng said it was. All around him, people whispered about _Karasu_ being in town. _Karasu_ \--the Raven--in a bustling city no one really knew about, making a stop on their tour to rest up before their next big show. People were eager to see how their line-up might change with the recent departure of their Electric Violinist, but even more were eager to see the lead singer himself on a small stage, doling out attention for hungry fans. 

If his mother knew, she’d be furious at Neil for choosing this place knowing that risk, but the call of a crowd to hide him had offered a compromise that came with _just_ enough freedom to allow for such a dangerous venture. Would it be worth it, if the rumors were false? He didn’t see the harm. But he knew how a crowd could turn when they were angry. If the Performer they wanted wasn’t here, then he would bail after his performance and no one would be the wiser. It would be a secret. A secret he would take to his grave.

Literally, it seemed like. 

He felt every limb stiffen when he spotted two of his Father’s people entering the club. Lola always dressed for nightlife. She fit in with the crowd, even with three knives hidden in plain sight and a horrific grin stretched across her face. He could practically hear her voice whispering, _Junior_ , on a lengthy tune, like a witch in a nursery rhyme come to collect what was rightfully hers. Behind her, a shadow moved along the wall to block the exit, waiting to strike the instant Neil broke from his place by the bathrooms and made a run for the door. 

He swallowed with some difficulty, dread weighing heavy on his shoulders. He counted to ten in German, then French, and finally English. He watched number twenty-three climb on stage to replace twenty-two and decided that twenty-five was his unlucky number. 

Crumpling his voucher into his pocket as a souvenir, he casually blew off waiting for the bathroom and took a beer hanging loose between one of his fellow’s fingers just as the music began. He brought the lip to his mouth and feigned a sip, grumbling his woes away one step at a time. Even with brown hair and brown contacts, he knew the two would recognize him once they found him. It was only a matter of when, not if, and he wasn’t eager to find out. 

_Stay calm,_ he reminded himself in German, pushing through the mass of people toward the back door. There was a thin alley that connected to a side street. It was employees only--probably for breaks or something--but Neil had seen number seventeen go out it for a quick smoke in between fourteen and fifteen’s performances. Knowing he had the slip in his pocket, he counted it a blessing he had signed up and slipped between another throng of bodies pressed tight to finally push on the door out into a humid Southern night. 

The loud pulse of the club died behind the heavy metal. His ears thrummed from the abuse, limbs a bit wobbly from the sudden change, but he pushed onwards. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he left his stolen beer to shatter just outside the door and ducked his head low before he picked up his pace to something only a little faster than a casual walk. 

He was contemplating which way to run when his path came to a sudden halt, a physical force keeping him from going further. Fight or flight kicked in and had him tensed and ready for a knife fight, hands already at his chest to deflect whatever blow was about to come. But instead of Lola or Rodriguez, Neil looked up at the barrier of flesh and frowned. 

“Neil Josten, right?” Brown eyes widened as he backed into the alley. The man before him was tall and formidable, even more so than his father. An unkempt mop of dark hair sat atop his head and two dark eyes were narrowed into a glare. A lit cigarette hung from his scowl. Tribal flame tattoos sleeved both arms of the stranger, and though he was dressed in simple jeans and a white tank top, Neil knew better than to let appearances fool him. 

This was, “David Wymack…” He took another gander of the man, putting information and a name to the face. The Music Industry hated him for taking in people written off by society and giving them a second chance in the world of music. They hated his talent even more. Since he opened his agency five years ago, only a single band had managed to actually earn them something close to a profit, and even that was hardly in the hundreds. They labeled him a failure, but the labels only served to fan his flames apparently. 

Neil held his ground, tensed to run as fast as he had to. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Wymack took a drag off his cigarette and removed it just long enough to flick off ashes before replacing it. “You’re not known for visiting nightclubs. You’re a street performer.”

Neil’s blood ran cold. “I’m not anything. I’m just Neil.”

“You’re something, alright.” Wymack crossed his arms and huffed out a breath of smoke. “You can play several instruments, self-taught, and you have the voice of an angel. Face ain’t bad, either. But you never stay in a venue longer than a day, or so my sources have told me.”

“You shouldn’t be asking about me.”

“And why not?” He took a step closer and Neil took one back. The Producer stopped, gaze stroking over him in something suspiciously close to understanding. “You’re good, kid. Any label would be lucky to have you.”

“I’m an amateur,” he countered, “at best. I have no technique and my instruments are all out of tune. You have no reason to want me.”

“That’s not true. There are plenty of reasons to want someone like you.” Neil glared. 

“Yeah? Name one.”

“You’re adaptable.” His face fell. Wymack looked almost smug at the change. “Should I keep going, or do you think one was enough?”

“I don’t wanna join your _crew_ ,” he argued, swallowing thickly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me--”

He made to venture around the tall man, staying a safe distance enough to not be caught when he darted. He barely made it two steps before a loud _whoosh_ came up behind him. He turned, expecting a person, and ducked with a gasp to dodge the large drum that flew just over his crouched head. He gaped at the bass drum that landed with a loud crash, turning back to find the person who had thrown it. 

If Neil was scared before, he was petrified now. Forget Lola. Forget his Father. Forget Wymack. He stared openly at the Blond that grinned at him like he hadn’t just lobbed a drum at his head. His voice bubbled up from his chest without his permission, “what the _fuck_?!”

His aggressor’s smile only grew. Wymack rubbed at his forehead and heaved a sigh. “Andrew, that’s _expensive_ ! Can you try, for _once_ in your miserable life, to _not_ break something?”

“It’s okay,” a third, equally familiar voice rang out from behind Neil, “we can afford to replace it. Neil’s voice will pay for it.” 

He whirled on his heel and stared in unabashed horror at the man standing tall beside Wymack. There was no mistaking him, even if they were in a dingy alley behind a club no one knew in a city no one cared to visit. 

Kevin Day was taller than the cameras gave him credit for. Standing nearly a foot taller than him, the Violinist was built more like an athlete than a performer. Tall and lean, his black hair was unstyled above two piercing green eyes. He wore street clothes that were too expensive for the average person, but played on a version of himself no one would recognize at a glance. Up the length of his left ear, several silver hoops looped the shell while a single diamond sat snug in his earlobe. A silver chain with a rook chess piece hung around his neck, disappearing under the collar of his too-expensive shirt. His glower was everything Neil expected and more. 

It didn’t bode well. “You could’ve killed me!”

“But we didn’t,” Kevin said boredly, gesturing at Neil in a single dismissive gesture. “You’re fine.”

“He chucked a _drum_ at me!” He cried, pointing an accusatory finger at Andrew.

Seemingly ignoring his outburst, Andrew took a step closer and opened his arms wide in a guilty gesture. “Oops! Looks like I missed, Day! You gonna cry?”

Kevin rolled his eyes. “Neil Josten, you’re coming with us.” 

The words punctured a hole through his abdomen and right through his spine. There was no threat in the words, just a certainty that paled any creative death sentence Lola had ever thrown at him. “I’m not going anywhere with you,” he still stated, gulping and clenching his fists hard to ease his nerves. “Not after he already threw a _drum_ at me!”

“It could’ve been worse.”

Neil was _not_ reassured. “ _How?!_ I could’ve died!”

Andrew dramatically canted forward, raising his hands behind his head to pillow it with each over-sized step. “Oh, if only! Maybe then Kevin would get off his knees and stop begging to have you on our team. I said you’re not good enough. He thinks you could be better than Riko.”

The name numbed him to the bone. Riko Moriyama, lead singer of _Karasu_. A talented performer with classical training from the best and the kind of range people died for. Literally. “Oh, that’s a laugh. You’re not serious, are you?”

Kevin blinked at him, expression still strung tight. “I don’t joke.”

“He really doesn’t,” Wymack defended, shooting the performer a look of distaste. “He’s dead serious.”

“Yeah, well, we all know what happens to people who are better than Riko,” Neil griped with a pointed glare at Kevin. The Violinist twitched with spite. Whether from being told no or called out, he wasn’t sure which. 

Andrew picked up in his silence, voice smug and teasing. “Oh, that’s only if they’re weak little runaways! You know, like you!”

“Exactly, which is why I’m _not_ doing it.”

Kevin took a deep breath and let it out. Neil wondered how many numbers he had to count to ignore the stick lodged up his ass. He wondered if by now it was a familiar feeling or if he still woke up some mornings and was surprised by the stretch. 

At length he said, “I don’t think you understand. I’m not giving you a choice, Neil. You’re coming with us willingly or you’re being dragged kicking and screaming.” 

At his back, Andrew snickered and waved his hand. “That’s why I’m here!”

Neil turned sideways to keep an eye on all parties. His stare narrowed. “This is kidnapping.”

Kevin rolled his eyes. “You’re not a child.”

“So, technically,” Andrew picked up, like this whole conversation was rehearsed, “it’s just plain old abduction!”

Neil felt kicked in the gut--again. The way he spoke made his insides boil. “Yeah! Which is _illegal_!” When neither one reacted to his retort, he stiffened and prepared to bolt. As a last ditch effort, he shot them both a look. “I’ll scream for help.”

Andrew’s look bordered on cruel. “Not if you have no air to scream.”

“Please don’t assume Andrew has the humanity to spare you,” Kevin said, risking a step forward. Neil pivoted, then stopped when he heard Andrew shift in time behind him. “He doesn’t, and I’m losing patience. Either say yes or say no. We’re ready for both.” Neil glared at where his fingers were already rolling up his sleeves. Behind him, he heard the rustle of fabric from Andrew’s side. 

Fine. If that’s how they wanted to play this. He’d certainly outrun worse. 

Glaring at Kevin, he shifted his foot. “You’re both insane.” Before he could see a reaction, he turned to bulldoze past Andrew and back toward the safety of the club, but he hardly made it three full strides. 

In the time it took him to shift and bolt, Andrew had a bat ready in his hands, dramatically drawing it back with a hearty, “batter up!” He swang for his stomach and connected with a sickening lurch of organs slammed together and back. Neil hardly had the air to breath, let alone scream as Andrew flattened him into the wall with a single swing. He just heard him say, “ooh, a home run!” Before the world went dark and his ears went silent. 

  
  
  
  
  


Kevin watched the boy slump there against the wall and worried for a second that Andrew might have hit him hard enough to rupture something important as Wymack cursed by his ear. The Producer sank to his knees beside him to do the honors of checking his abdomen for anything besides signs of normal bruising. He checked ribs and back, too, pressing against his shirt a few times before he heaved a sigh of relief. He shot a harsh glare over his shoulder at him, dropping his cigarette and stomping it out. 

The Violinist shrugged. “I warned him.” Wymack chose not to dignify that with an answer. Instead, he hoisted the boy over his shoulder like a ragdoll and held his legs with an irritated huff. 

He looked at both of them, accusatory and with every right to be so. Kevin knew this wasn’t the first time and that it certainly wouldn’t be the last. “This is why I have more lawsuits on my desk than offers.” He shook his head and sighed. “C’mon, let’s go.” 

Together, the three of them exited the alley and made their way back to their van. Kevin paused only long enough to look back in at the club still playing host to tonight’s open mic. Everyone inside was waiting for the mysterious number Twenty-five--an unknown with a fake name in a fake handwriting. _Neil Josten_ , he thought, seeing the club owner shrug and call up the next candidate. What a pity no one would get to hear him tonight. 

But it was imperative they retreated before the night got wild. Ditching a performance like this was nothing new to small venues, but he knew their reputation would take a dive if they didn’t at least make an appearance. Everyone inside was waiting to see the famous Riko Moriyama take the stage and impress them with his haunting tenor, but Kevin knew better than anyone that that narcissist would never be caught dead loafing around a joint like this. 

Still, he should be enough on his own. He’d play one song and then leave. No one would be the wiser to the boy knocked unconscious in their backseat and they could return to South Carolina with a prize and a charity to their name. Win-win in his book. 

Beside him, Andrew slanted him a hazel look. He knew this one by now. “Don’t worry. Just one short song. Something easy from my solo project. A little taste. That’s all.”

“Is that all, Day? Is it? Really? Can you survive a crowd like that without slaving yourself away for hours? I’m not sure you can.” 

Kevin rolled his eyes. “Don’t believe me all you want. Time me. Five minutes. Nothing more and nothing less.”

“Five minutes.” Andrew tapped his wrist where pale skin was absent of a watch. “That’s it.” 

He nodded and made sure Neil was secure on Wymack’s shoulder before he ducked into another alleyway. He left a lone hundred next to the sleeping man he’d used to hide his prized fiddle and about faced for the Club. Signing a fake name on line Thirty-two, he shot Andrew a quick text and made a lap around to the back. He pounded on the door four times and grinned at the employee who let him in. They stared in shock as he put a finger to his lips. “Not a word, kay?”

Like that, he snuck into the house and around to the stage. Tonight, he would debut as Kevin Day. Tonight, the world would finally know he was free.


	2. Song 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil wakes up where he's not supposed to and hell ensues. What else is new?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in looking back, I kinda realized that Lola's brother's name is Romero, but for some reason, I was dead set on it being Rodriguez, so that will probably change in the future. In the mean time, please enjoy chapter 2, written by Celestial_Seraphim!

Neil squinted his eyes as the sunlight hit them, appearing to him as red against his vision. The last thing he remembered was the crashing of a bass drum on the floor. He recalled the brief crunch of gravel under his feet and the adrenaline of a run on the way--a run that was quickly aborted by pain and darkness.

Hearing the buzz of an A/C unit starting up, Neil finally stirred, blinking his eyes open. With just a quick glance, he found himself on a small bed in an equally small room. The only thing that mattered was the window overlooking the street to his immediate right. He rolled to check it, but stalled when his abdomen lit up with a fury. He bit his lip to push it down, knowing he’d faced far worse than this to let it stop him. But his moment of strength was for not. Of course, as expected, it was locked tight. 

He grumbled irately, feeling more and more like a trapped canary by the second. His temper was quick to flare, a single-minded force that mingled with a lingering desperation when he remembered Lola and her knife, forcing him up to his feet despite the lurch in his stomach. He swallowed down a mouthful of bile and almost failed on the next one. He kept a hand on the simple bed to keep him on his feet, then swept the room again. 

The only thing Neil had left to check was the door which, unsurprisingly, was also locked. His mind went to the most important thing he held in his possession: his duffel bag. It had everything he called his own in it as well as just as many secrets he’d rather keep hidden. Doing a slow twirl, his stomach sank again, this time with ice-cold fear. 

He swore to himself and checked his pockets to see if anything else was missing. His wallet was still in its usual place, as was his phone and the keys to his locker down at the local post office that he never used. There was also a half-empty pack of cigarettes and--he swore, louder, and brought a hand up to his eyes. But he didn’t need to see the lack of a brown haze to know that the contacts he normally wore to hide his blue eyes were gone.

“Goddammit!” He shouted, not caring if anyone heard. In fact, a part of him hoped someone did. Maybe there were neighbors who would hear his cries for help and come running. When no immediate response came, he repeated the curse and trudged into the bathroom. Checking in the mirror, unforgiving blue stared back at him. So, yup, his contacts were gone. He turned even paler than normal when he noticed his hair. Instead of the brown he’d been keeping it the last couple months, it was back to its natural red color with just a hint of a vinegar smell to it.

Neil watched a murderous sneer curl on his lips, pressing rough fingers into his chapped skin to fight it off. These...goddamn sons of bitches. He was going to stick out like a sore thumb now! 

His anger reached a boiling point when he noticed a sticky note on the mirror with a playful,  _ “You break it you buy it :)” _ written on it. Grabbing at the note, he crumpled it in his fist, leaving the bathroom to chuck it at the door. He followed right after, pounding on it relentlessly. 

“Let me out of here, assholes!” He screamed, “I said no to your deal, and I meant it!

“Quit your squawking,” a voice mused from the other side of the obstruction. It was definitely that short blonde from last night: the psycho who had thrown the bass drum--the infamously dangerous Andrew Minyard. He drawled on boredly, “you’ll wake everyone up and the neighbors will start complaining. Have some decency and  _ relax _ . I’ll let you out as soon as you agree to the deal.” 

“I’m not agreeing to shit! And where’s my fucking duffel bag?!” 

“Oh, you mean this ratty thing?” Neil went livid when he heard him shaking it around, hearing all the familiar things he kept in there rattle violently. He kicked the door and listened to a laugh peel through the wood. “What does a runaway even keep in here? It’s diapers, isn’t it? I mean, that way you can shit and run at the same time, right?” 

“It’s none of your goddamn business! Give it back!” Neil would’ve torn the door down by now if he could with all his kicking and punching. He kept at it until he could barely feel his knuckles. He gave it a couple more kicks for good measure, then gave up with panting breaths. 

It was only then, when he was exhausted and bordering on throwing himself from a window, that the blonde finally opened the door with such a force that it knocked Neil back, landing him flat on his ass. He unceremoniously dropped the duffel bag at his feet. 

He wore a smile that looked a little too happy to be real. “There you go, junkie! So, what’s your answer? Do you wanna be a Fox or not? You know, Kevin doesn’t see pure talent in just anyone.” 

As soon as Neil could, he snatched up the duffel and took it to the bathroom before the Blonde could stop him. He slammed the door between them and locked it. He heard Andrew faintly ask him,  _ should I take that as a no _ , as he peeked inside to ensure everything was where it should be. Clothes sat in his ordered fashion on top, wrinkled from abuse, but otherwise untouched. He tugged them out in fistfuls to make sure every valuable was still in there. Satisfied when he felt hard plastic smooth beneath his fingers, he set his clothes neatly and raked frustrated hands into his hair. 

Grabbing at fistfuls, he glared when Andrew knocked hard at the door. “I don’t like  _ waiting _ , Junkie!”

Neil gave him a taste of his own medicine, unlocking the door and jarring it open in one violent move. Andrew was too far back to have been affected. He hated how angry that made him. “Like I give a shit what Kevin Day thinks. He’s a washed up has-been.” 

“Oof,” the Blonde said boredly, “your words cut almost as deep as my knives.” 

“Andrew Minyard! What the actual fuck?” Neil peered past Andrew to see a woman stomping up behind him looking absolutely livid. She wasn’t a familiar face, but Andrew’s uninterested glance made it pretty clear she wasn’t someone worth time. Neil filed her tan skin and mercilessly short dark hair into his informal registry of people, but focused on the anger in her dark eyes. He vaguely registered the fresh bruises on her arms and cheeks. Judging by the few that were slowly appearing on Andrew, he figured this probably wasn’t their first altercation this morning.

“Dan! How nice of you to join us! I was just seeing if the runaway who can sing was ready to accept Wymack’s generous offer,” Andrew said, innocently holding his hands out in a sign of peace. 

“That’s a fucking lie!” Neil snarled viciously, “I’m being held here against my will,” he was quick to add, hugging his duffel close to his chest. Of course, it hadn’t been the first time he had been kidnapped, but it wasn’t something he wanted to get used to. “You stole my contacts  _ and _ took the dye out of my hair without my permission!” 

“Red suits you better I think, junkie,” Andrew teased, quickly stepping out of Dan’s way when she approached. Contrary to the maniac, Dan knelt in front of him, being sure to do it slowly to show she wasn’t a threat. 

“I’m sorry you had to go through this,” she said atop a displeased frown. “They told us you came willingly, but obviously that wasn’t the case,” she side-eyed Andrew, shaking her head as she stood and offered Neil her hand. “I’m Dan, by the way--Dan Wilds. Matt and I can take you to a bus stop if you need. I’m...really sorry about all this. Wymack keeps trying to find ways to improve our band, but straight up taking people off the streets isn’t the way to go about it.” 

“Dan, Dan, Dan the wo _ man _ ! We made sure it was someone no one would come looking for. He’s a runaway, a stray. No one at the club even questioned it because no one cares about him,” Andrew had already lit up a cigarette, not caring that he was still inside with that smile still on his face. “No one’s gonna miss him.”

“That doesn’t justify it, Andrew! Do we have to fight again?” Dan looked about ready to square up, sticking true to her word as she hid Neil protectively behind her. 

Andrew held up his hands again, slowly backing up with a chuckle. “I’m not in the mood.” He gestured vaguely to the hallway, “but go ahead. We’ll see how far the runaway gets before he comes crawling back to us for safety. How many more scars are ya gonna collect?” He gave Neil a once over that chilled him right down to the bone.  _ Had he seen? _ _ Did he know _ \--but before he could start another argument, Andrew was already sauntering away to another part of the house. 

He took a breath and turned blue eyes on Dan slowly. “Um...thanks, for that. I would--appreciate a ride to the bus stop, I mean. I’m Neil, by the way,” he muttered nervously. By the look on Dan’s face she was already aware. 

“Nice to meet you, Neil. I heard about you from Wymack and, well, the Monsters. That’s what we call them because of their...ways: Andrew, Kevin, Aaron, I dunno if I’d count Nicky, but he _was_ the only one taking care of the twins for a long time.” She gestured Neil to follow as she led him outside to the porch. 

“Twins?” Neil asked as he took a second once he was outside to catch his breath. 

“Oh, yeah, do you not know about our band?” 

Neil shrugged. “I know that Wymack is a producer and manager for you guys, and I knew of Kevin from his previous band, but..I haven’t stayed caught up in the music world...sorry.” They resumed walking as Dan took Neil toward one  _ monster _ of a pick-up truck. It was an obnoxious blue color and  _ littered _ with fox stickers and paw prints. The bed of it was filled with bags and metal poles. 

Dan grinned. “It’s okay! I’m sure you’ve been busy with other things,” she dismissed easily enough. “You see, Andrew and Aaron Minyard are twins, and they’re both incredible assholes in their own unique ways.” She rolled her eyes, then sighed. “Though I hate to admit it, Andrew  _ is _ right about Kevin picking people. You’re obviously talented if they tried to get you to join. You...mainly street perform, right?” 

“Yeah, for money. I’m not interested in using my voice for fame. I use it for survival,” Neil said matter of factly. The thought of getting all dressed up and singing for a bunch of fans made his insides churn, especially the mere thought of his face being on TV. 

"Well, that's a shame," she said, but didn't elaborate on why. Neil shrugged off the nerves crawling over him and followed her glance to a figure approaching from the distance.

Dan paused to wave as an extremely tall man came walking over with a sweet smile on his face. He was somehow even taller than Kevin, with bronzed skin and a strong build. His dark hair added an extra inch of unnecessary height, what with the gelled spikes he had it styled in. Neil watched them share a tight hug, but he looked away when their lips came together for a short kiss. 

“Hey!” The man greeted enthusiastically, “I’m Matt. Neil, right? Sorry about the whole...kidnapping thing. The rest of us had no idea, really! You needed a ride?” 

“To the bus stop, yes,” Neil said, managing a wave back. Meeting the two of them was like night and day compared to Andrew and Kevin. While those two were forceful and rough around the edges, these guys seemed...well, nice. It wasn’t something Neil ran into often in his life on the run. It was something rare and precious, and it made him smile a little bit. “I...really appreciate it.” 

“It’s no problem, dude! Wymack can always find someone else. World’s full of talented people, right? Doesn’t mean it has to be you.” He opened the back door of his truck, gesturing him inside. 

There was a slight apprehension on getting in the truck, even though he knew it was his fastest way out. There were a million questions going through his head: where were the exits? How fast could he unbuckle himself and roll out? Did these two have any weapons? Could he get away from Matt with his height, what about Dan? He tried his best to push them to the back of his mind, but the habit stuck with him even as he shut the door and buckled himself in. These were possibilities he had to think about to survive, he reassured himself. For now, he sat in the back seemingly calm and breathed in to the count of ten with his fingers dug deep into the leather seats. 

As they drove on, Neil found himself unconsciously covering his hair with his hands, or at least trying to. He was reminded of the deep red color it was right now each time he spied his bangs in his vision. He couldn’t bear the idea of seeing his reflection in the window, knowing that if he did, it would send him right back to the edge of panic. He could always just re-dye it later, but he needed to be somewhere relatively safe to do that. That meant going on the run with hundreds of people looking at his unusual hair color, gossiping about the stranger with the bright hair and even brighter eyes. Could he risk that right now?

Did he have a choice?

He did a good job hiding his anxiety with several ten-counts in every language he knew. Matt and Dan mostly chatted with each other as Matt drove, providing a quiet din for his thoughts to get lost in while Neil watched the scenery go by, feeling more and more at ease the further they got away from the house. There was still the whole process of having to duck into a bathroom to get his disguise situated again: the contacts at least. The dye would take more time but whatever. At this rate, he’d probably be safer taking a flight to Switzerland and street performing there. They’d probably love his pop punk-esque voice even more than the people here did. 

His heart leapt into his throat when he saw the familiar bus depot come rolling into view. Matt had to wait for a string of traffic, but as soon as the truck parked near the entrance, Neil immediately sprang out, taking only his single duffel bag with him. “Um, thank you...for driving me here. If you want some money for gas or whatever..” 

“Neil, don’t worry about it. It wasn’t that long of a drive,” Matt chuckled, hanging an arm out the window. “But, seriously, if you do need a place to stay, we’ll keep you away from Andrew and the Monsters. Promise.” 

“N-no, I really need to go. Thank you, though. Um...guess this is goodbye, then.” 

Like a rabbit, Neil was off faster than Matt could blink. 

“A jumpy one, isn’t he?” He asked, leaning over Dan to watch his frame sprint out of sight.

“I’m worried about him. He’s so skittish, and that stunt Kevin and Andrew pulled didn’t make things any easier,” Dan sighed, leaning back against the seat enough to make it creak. 

Matt shrugged and sat back with a reassuring smile. “Well, he survived them, right? Anyone who can survive Andrew can survive  _ anything _ .”

Dan pursed her lips. “Yeah, I hope so…”

Still, they decided to hang out there for a bit just to make sure things went smoothly. After about thirty minutes and no signs of Neil, they figured he had caught a bus and mutually agreed to go give the Monsters hell in retribution. 

Matt was just about to start backing up out of the spot when Dan touched his arm urgently, “wait, stop!” 

He didn’t see the hold up at first, having to peer over her in search of whatever was keeping him idling on the breaks. He looked out the back window, then to the side again. He frowned at the blur coming right for them. That was  _ definitely _ Neil running up to the truck again, eyes wide with panic. Both of them noticed the arm he was holding, but it wasn’t until he was right up against the door that either of them saw the blood. 

“Actually, you know, I think I will take you up on that offer,” he said, quickly enough that they almost didn’t catch it. Neil kept glancing behind him as if he was expecting someone to come chasing after him.

“Kid, y-you’re bleeding,” Matt finally said, earning a whap on his arm from Dan. 

“That hardly matters right now! Get in!” That was all the encouragement Neil needed to hear before he wrenched the door open and jumped in. As soon as it closed, Matt was peeling out of the parking lot as fast as he could go. 

Neil’s heart was pounding as he pressed his grip harder against the wound on his arm. He grimaced. He could practically feel his mother rolling over in her grave. 

“Sorry, mom…” He whispered into the wind. He watched the streets pass and gulped when he saw the Fox Den come back into view. He let out all his panic in a single, broken sigh. 

Great, out of the frying pan and into the fire it was, then. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and we hope you enjoyed!


	3. Song 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil gets a tour, meets some foxes, and the introduction of his new role in the band.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, because this is a Band Fic, inevitably, there are gonna be songs in here and since I am not a song-writer, and neither is Celestial-Seraphim, be prepared for disclaimers and some overlap. Still trying to figure out the logistics of songs to use and who to play them and all that jazz (hah, I'm not funny), but...expect some links at the end.
> 
> Until then, Enjoy!

The three of them had hardly made it up the stairs of the condo before an antagonistic voice was drawling, "told you so," in a sing-song tone. Neil glared sidelong at the Blond where he sat lazily atop a guitar case. An unlit cigarette hung from his fingers, loosely swaying when he gestured boredly at his arm. "Two hundred even, Junkie. That's how much your tale was worth."

Dan actually glared. "You bet on his safety?"

"We bet on everything," Andrew dismissed with little feeling, exaggeratedly waving his hand. He smiled cruelly up at Neil. "Hey! Hey, Neil! Have fun? Do you like being cut up on the streets? I think you do! You have to, with how often you run!"

"Fuck you," the Redhead seethed viciously. "You don't know shit about me."

"You see, Junkie," Andrew said as he stood from his perch, "that's where you're wrong. See, I know all about your kind. Have to in this industry. Half the best selling artists are troubled youths who found their calling singing their woes to a world waiting to hear the next desperate love song."

"Like you?" Neil's biting tone earned him a wide grin. Andrew almost looked incensed at his accusation, but there was no ice in his gaze, only amusement. 

"Me? Nah," he drawled, drawing the vowel out with an exaggerated shake of his head, "not me. I'm not a troubled youth. I'm a threat to society, on a good day."

"And on a bad one?" Andrew's smile said enough. 

Dan put herself between them, posture rigid and glare fiery. "That's enough--from both of you. Andrew, go check on the others. Neil," she turned to him, gaze softening subtly, "come on, let's show you around." 

She went to wrap an arm around his shoulders, but Neil walked by before she could. The dismissal did nothing to her enthusiasm as they left Andrew behind to explore the rest of the house. 

The Fox Den--the colloquial name for the Halfway house they were exploring now--had once been just as abandoned and condemned as Wymack's chosen foxes. The old building was once a recording studio back in the days before the Great Depression, and had shut down shortly after the first of many banks fell below the tragedy of a failing economy. Seventy-five years later, David Wymack had purchased the old thing with every intention of putting demolition on hold to remodel it into something a bit more usable.

What he ended up with was this. The building wasn't much to look at on the outside, but the inside was stacked with rooms for each individual fox. Dan named them off as they went by. "Matt's room is at the end of the hall, right next to the one you stayed in last night--that's yours now, by the way. We can move your things in whenever." She shrugged and tapped a finger to the next wooden obstruction. "This is Seth's room. Bass player and asshole. He takes getting used to, but he's good at what he does--"

"Debatable." Dan paused and rolled her eyes. Kevin leaned out of a doorway to glare at them. Behind him, Neil spotted activity in what appeared to be a vast and open parlor, complete with the smell of fresh food. His stomach clenched at the scent, reminding him with a loud growl that it had been nearly two days since his last meal. Kevin's gaze settled on him mercilessly. "He's replaceable goods. Anyone with two hands and working fingers can play bass."

Before Neil could retort, Dan narrowed her dark eyes in a petulant glare. "Do you mind? I'm trying to give him a tour."

"Give him a tour later."

"Yeah! C'mon and eat before the food gets cold!" The man who came to the door next leaned himself heavily against Kevin. The act must've been a normal one by now because the Violinist merely rolled his eyes in response to the sudden addition. Neil couldn't quite put a name to the face of the stranger, but he didn't need to.

Dan beat him to the punch. "Nicky," she complained, "I thought I told you to wait! The others aren't back, yet!"

Nicky's smile was about as close to sheepish as Neil believed any of the Monsters could get. There was a hint of real apology there, but it was crude and not quite the emotion he might have expected from any other person, but it was cold fact that the Cousins weren't exactly _normal_. No one knew why Wymack signed them to his label, but the mere fact he had--and Andrew's infamous streak of endless collateral damage--spoke wonders of dark history. Online forums had no shortage of theories. Neil's personal favorite was that the Twins were actually the illegitimate sons of one famous rocker or another and that Nicky Hemmick was simply their way of hiding the fact behind a guise of false realism.

Seeing him now, Neil could picture it. Unlike the Minyard twins, Aaron and Andrew, Nicky was tall and dark--too dark to simply be from the South Carolina summer. His black hair curled slightly from the humid air, and dark doe eyes squinted with a broad grin. Where Andrew was manic and Aaron irritable, Nicky looked almost friendly. Too friendly, perhaps. The kind that was compensating for something. His instincts said something _dark_. 

Neil already didn't trust him. "It's fine," he said, taking a step back into the hall. "We can finish the tour while we wait." 

Nicky visibly frowned, then jeered in protest. "Oh, boo! After I went through all this trouble slaving away in the kitchen for you? For shame, Neil! At least try a bite."

"No thank you." The words tasted like ash in his mouth, but they came out even enough. Dan squeezed his shoulder and cast Nicky a look. 

"Save some for us. We'll be back in ten."

"Make it five!" Nicky called to their backs. Neil heard Kevin's low grumble as he shoved him off, presumably back into the kitchen, but Dan moved quick enough to drown out the individual words. 

She continued right where she left off. "This is Nicky's room. Whatever sorry sap decided to make him Seth's neighbor had an awful sense of humor. Those two fight constantly. Try not to let it bother you, okay?"

"It won't," Neil dismissed. Petty squabbles were hardly a din after years on the run. "Next?"

"Kevin," She said, knocking a knuckle against his door, "and Andrew's is across the hall. He's the only room on the left and the door is always locked." She tried the handle, and sure enough, it didn't budge. Neil tried Kevin's, surprised when it did. Dan pulled it closed before he could peek. "It's better you don't snoop. Kevin's not exactly private, but we have rules about rooms and trespassing."

"Then he should lock his door," Neil protested, crossing his arms.

Dan sighed and stalled to offer a worn look. "Listen, Neil, I know he didn't leave a good first impression--"

"That's the understatement of the year--"

"-- _but_ he's _still_ a fox. All of us have pasts, most of which we're not proud of. These rooms, for most of us, are all we really have. Whether our families abandoned us or our lives were forever turned upside down, Wymack gave us a place that's safe and homey." 

Neil wanted to tell her that nowhere was safe. Safe was a relative and unrealistic term. A street could be safe in every legal definition of the word, but that didn't stop a random stranger from pulling a gun in a crowded intersection and shooting several bystanders dead. It didn't stop an extremist from sneaking into a crowded subway train and blowing themselves to smithereens for the sake of a mission none of the Innocents lost could hope to ever understand. It certainly didn't keep Lola from drawing a knife in a crowded bus stop, nor did it keep her from turning the blade straight on him. 

But Dan was clearly an idealist. There was a fire about her that was interesting, to say the least. Enough so, at least, to change his answer. "He should still lock his door."

Dan sighed. "I'll talk to him about it." She moved on to the next one. There was no mistaking the owner. Bubbly letters were scrawled across the wood in a pink so violently bright it physically hurt him to look at. Her lips curled into a smile. "Allison, obviously. She's our Keyboard player. Did you know that she started as a classical pianist? It's pretty much the only thing her and Kevin have in common."

Neil snorted. "Don't tell him that."

Dan merely grinned and walked a couple more steps to tap another door. "This is Renee, our drummer. She's actual sunshine and totally worth all the crap we get. If you ever need life advice, I highly recommend."

Neil was too nice to tell her he had more than any of them combined, so he merely nodded. She gestured at the final door. "And this is me! Wymack's office is downstairs and the recording studio is just below that. We have a practice room on the first floor, but Kevin hogs it ninety percent of the time."

Neil looked around, confused. He turned a couple half turns before he cocked an eyebrow. "What about Aaron?"

"Aaron?" Dan echoed the name, then blinked the confusion from her expression. "Oh, you mean, where's his room? Not here, obviously." Neil stared until she finally got the hint and continued, "he lives up the street in an apartment with his girlfriend."

"But why? These rooms are free."

Dan shrugged. "Why don't you ask him? Maybe he'll actually tell you." He decided that was meant to sound as sarcastic as it did and followed obediently when she opened the door down to the stairs. 

The basement they walked into was quiet and empty with no shortage of decorations. Furniture was arranged about the large open space in congregations fit for three distinct groups of people. Four chairs were seated around a coffee table on his right with a couch made for three set up across from a large TV. A love seat was angled away from that, with visibility of the TV but enough privacy to make good on its namesake. A white fridge was pressed against the back of the room with childish bubble letters stuck to the front in an array of bright, obnoxious colors. Upon closer inspection,he found two completed sentences staring back at him.

_Buy more milk._

_Fuck you, no._

Neil couldn't help his smirk. "Is there anything but animosity between you guys?"

Dan looked at the fractured conversation and sighed harshly. "That's Kevin and Nicky. Kevin went vegan a couple years back and you can imagine how our self-proclaimed chef took the change." She didn't explain further, beckoning him to follow as she went to the room at the far left. Photos of various events at an assortment of venues covered the plexy glass, leaving little actual sight into the room. When she opened the door, he stared in wonder at what loomed behind it.

The practice room was old, but _nice_ . Everything Neil could've ever needed to hone his skills stared back at him. From music stands to drumsets to guitars hung along the far wall, Wymack had made sure there was no shortage for his foxes. There was even a grand piano pushed to one side, its ebony and ivory keys hidden beneath the weight of their wood cover. His fingers ached to stretch along it and play a familiar tune, but the last time he touched a piano, his mother had smacked his fingers so hard with a conductor's baton he could _still_ feel the welts six years later.

His stomach dropped hard into his abdomen, sinking down to his knees when Dan ushered him the rest of the way in. She pointed to three doors at the back of the room. Behind dark glass, he could _just_ make out the sight of microphones hanging from the ceiling, waiting for a singer to make good use of them. Her smile down at him was unfamiliar. It came with a pang that made him want to renege and run. "Those are the practice booths. Ever been in one before?"

"No," Neil lied. The last one he'd visited was when he was ten. His voice had broken around the weight of fear clogging his throat and his father's fist had pounded so hard against the metal door he was _sure_ it couldn't possibly hold. "Never."

Dan shook her head, but it wasn't pity tugging at her tight expression. He couldn't place it, but it forced his mind away from repressed memories long enough to hear her say, "let's change that." She walked up to the middle door and wrenched it open. "Get in."

Neil only hesitated for a second before he complied. It smelled like plastic and old carpet. Dan let the door go and he forced down a flinch when the jam caught before tipping closed with a click. Everything went _silent_. In the still air, he heard each sound of his teeth grinding when he tested his jaw anxiously and the slight shuffle of his restless feet. Each breath sounded like a wave crashing against a beach. Like skin peeling off polyester like Velcro. The stench of stale blood and spilled gasoline--

" _Neil_?" He drew a harsh breath and reached for the headphones dangling beside the microphone. Putting them on, he hesitated, then said:

"Yeah?"

" _Got any requests? I've got a channel opened for you. Give me a song._ "

Neil thought for a second. "Uh, it's called Secrets."

" _By State Champs? Coming right up!_ " 

Neil waited an agonizing few seconds before the opening rifts peeled around him. A grin split his lips, eyes shuttering closed as the melody caught him. He touched his fingers to his headphones and leaned forward until his lips touched the mic, feeling the words press against the tip of his tongue. 

His voice filled the room ferociously. A teasing tone lilted each word, schooling his expression into a playful smile as he preached through the first verse and leapt into the first chorus. " _I've got more secrets than you'll ever know...another year and you won't let it go...too many times I told myself to hold on...but it's too late for me! Now I'm as good as gone!_ "

His head bobbed to the music, losing his composure to the familiarity of the song. This was one of the first songs he'd ever performed live on the street. The lyrics sounded like they were written for him. The ferocity in the singer's voice had been what he imitated his first performance, spitting every biting word at a crowd who would never understand how deep each lyric hit inside him. 

His smile only grew when the tone suddenly changed at the bridge. Though the ferocity remained, he let a bit of his anguish flood over, tilting his smile into something wicked and sadistic. He opened his eyes and took a deep breath, steeling himself as the final chorus rolled into him. 

He belted it. Let every year on the run puncture each word through to the bone. He put forth every single secret he'd kept buried deep inside into every long note, wishing someone might hear them and be willing to bear a bit of the unbearable weight. A slight whine broke through the words, hurt, but still standing strong. 

He really pushed the last lines. He used to sing the words to his father's shadow, imagining his unimpressed gaze boring into the studio walls. Right now, all he saw was that infuriating grin plastered beneath a cold hazel gaze, right above a cigarette hanging lazy from split lips. " _Not everybody wants an enemy...call me the culprit and that's all you'll see! You were responsible for finding a way to catch on...but it's too late for me! Now, I'm as good as gone!"_

Silence settled as his voice faded off. His panting breaths were the only sound in the small room, slowly turning frantic as seconds turned to minutes. He turned his eyes to the blacked out glass and gulped. "D--"

" _Whoa_ …" Neil's cheeks flushed cherry red at the awed tone in Dan's voice. People had clapped for him. People had dropped large bills in his open guitar case and tipped their hats at his quick words and fierce voice. No one had ever sounded so... _moved_ before. 

He swallowed. "Good whoa or bad?"

" _Great whoa. Holy shit whoa. You might actually be better than Riko whoa_." Neil thought he might actually throw up. 

"You can be honest. I know I need work. My musicality isn't the best and I definitely went a little flat a couple times there. Oh, I think I missed a word, too, and my rhythm--"

" _Neil._ " He gulped and forced down the knot in his throat.

"...Y-yeah?"

Dan's voice was soft. He'd never had a sibling before, but he imagined her tone just then was that of a proud sister addressing her embarrassingly talented younger brother. " _I can see why Kevin chose you._ "

He didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything. Not for a while. 

When it was clear she didn't plan to break the silence, he cleared his throat a bit awkwardly and adjusted his headphones. "Can I go now? It's kinda stuffy in here…"

" _One more song_ ." He frowned, but she was persistent. _"One more song and you can disappear to your room for the rest of the night, okay? Pick something a little less...punk. Something soft, okay?_ "

Neil sighed and flicked through his mental register of songs. He settled on one two minutes later. "It's called Gone."

Dan didn't say a word, but a few seconds later, the familiar haunting melody began. He was quick to sing along. Where _Secrets_ was quick and deadly, this song gave him a real chance to grit his teeth and drag out each word. It was the kind of song that he used to sing when he remembered Lola and Romero chasing him across the world. The kind he sang to himself when he thought of his father pointing knives at him and telling him he'd never amount to anything. 

He furrowed his eyebrows and opened his eyes as the first verse bled into the chorus, glare piercing the back wall of the practice room. " _So, are you happy now? You got exactly what you wanted. You try to break me down, destroy me piece by piece, but I have made a vow,_ " he clenched his fist and bit each word out like a threat, " _I won't live the life you made me choose. We're players in a game that I don't intend to lose._ " 

He took a deep breath as the melody settled back to staccato piano notes. He eased into the lyrics, slow and steady, singing each line with the same guarded viciousness he never had the courage to show his father. He filtered every sleepless night with his back pressed against his mom's into his voice. Every syllable was a promise written in footsteps pounding down open roads away from hired hands trained for the single mission of bringing his life to an end. He practically growled the threat, " _you thief, you found my weakness and you went on the attack. But look over your shoulder and see my target on your back._ "

Taking a centering breath, he raged on, " _so, are you happy now? You got exactly what you wanted. You tried to break me down, destroyed me piece by piece. But I have made a vow, I won't live the life you made me choose. We're players in a game that I don't intend to lose."_ He shook with the force of his next breath, echoing one last time, " _we're players in a game and I don't intend to lose._ "

Once more, the music wavered out and left the small room in silence. The weight those words carried sank heavily in his stomach. He felt the promise buried in his voice pinch at every nerve. He was a coward and a runaway. When guns fired, he bolted. When knives glinted, he fled. The only courage he had to his name was the few songs he used to keep himself alive. It was a growing repertoire of war songs that he hoped might one day give him the kind of strength he needed to hear his father's name and not flinch. The kind of courage he needed to see his shadows on the street and decide to fight instead of run. 

He clenched his fists. Drawing a breath, he counted back from ten in his head. On one, he said, "are we done?"

There was a long, pregnant pause. He opened his eyes and glared at the wall. Grabbing his headphones, he only stopped when a voice hissed through the quiet, " _we're just getting started._ "

Neil pursed his lips. "I'm not singing for you."

Kevin's tone was uncaring. " _You don't have to. Whoever made you sing like that, sing for them."_

Neil felt his teeth clench against his will. "Fuck you."

" _Later."_ He blanched, but went stiff when he heard a haunting whine buzz over the line. 

Neil shook his head and took off his headphones. He heard the violin continue to shriek through them, but he ignored it as he threw the door open and stomped out. Dan stared openly while Kevin glared. Neil glared right back. "It's been more than ten minutes. I promised five. I want food before I sing another word."

"Ooh, is that a demand?" Neil turned to glare at the Blond. Andrew casually flipped a drumstick between his fingers. "Is the starlet getting cocky from a couple praises? Careful, that ego might explode and I don't think you have much padding to protect you from the fallout."

Neil snarled, "fuck you, too. I came back and I did as asked. The least you could do is stick to your word." 

"Why?" He said it so simply, eyes widening in faux innocence, like he couldn't quite fathom where this aggression was coming from. "I don't remember owing you any promises, Junkie."

"My name is _Neil_!"

"And mine is _I don't care_." Andrew's expression fell quickly to boredom. "You want food? The stairs are right through that door. This isn't a prison. You don't need an escort."

"Andrew," Kevin warned, but the blond didn't stop. 

"Unless you want it to be. Should we lock you back in your room? It sounds like you might enjoy the challenge!"

"Why are you such a fucking dick? I've never done shit to you!"

"Sure you have," Andrew drawled sweetly. He pointed his stick at Kevin and said, "you got his attention. He has a hard on for that desperation in your voice. Says you sing like you know what it's like to have nothing and want the world. He says that kind of note is one audiences will pay big time to hear."

Neil stared at Kevin. "That true?"

The Violinist blinked and shrugged. "I'd like to think I said it a bit more eloquently, but that was the gist of it."

Andrew's smirk came slow. "But here's the thing, _Runaway_ ," he enunciated each syllable like it was its own song. Neil gulped under the weight of his sadistic glee, "I don't like you. You've got alarms blaring in my head like a Friday night in Madison Square Garden. See, I think someone who sings like you and runs from town to town is a deathwish. Are you a deathwish, Neil?"

Neil snorted. "Who knows? If I am, will I be around long enough for you to find out?"

"Oh," Andrew laughed, "oh, hear that, Kevin? He plans to run again!"

Neil smirked. "First chance I get. Put me on stage and I'll bolt right into the crowd."

"You won't do any such thing," Kevin seethed. Apparently, his patience was as worn as Neil's. "We can protect you. It doesn't matter what you're running from--"

"Yes, it does!" Neil pointed a finger and felt his temper flare into a vicious grin. "I'm running from _you_ ! How do you plan to protect me from _that_?"

The room went silent. Dan looked at Kevin, then at the smile stretched over Andrew's lips. The Blond tilted his head in a _he has a point_ gesture at Kevin. The Violinist rolled his eyes, but his silence was concession enough. 

Neil huffed. "This arrangement," he wagged his finger in a circle to indicate their current predicament and all its faults, "is temporary. I'm only joining you for one show."

"Three."

"Kevin!" Green didn't sway from blue. He took a step closer and folded his bow under his arm. 

"Three shows and you're free to go."

Neil looked at him, then at Andrew before settling his eyes on Dan. He sucked his teeth and huffed another breath. "Fine. Three shows. That's _it_."

Before Kevin could comment with something that would inspire Neil to cut the deal altogether, Nicky's voice cut in from the stairwell, "uh, dude...it's been, like, fifteen minutes. Can you guys, like, come eat before Seth gets back and snags it all?" He closed the door and Dan glared at Kevin and Andrew. 

She took Neil under her arm and led him to the stairs. "So, three shows. I'll get you a song list and some tapes. We can start practicing tomorrow, if you'd like."

Despite every fiber of his being urging him to ditch this place and go, Neil smiled tightly at her. "Yeah...I think I would." The words felt like nails in a coffin. Andrew's smile on his back was that of his executioner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and we hope you enjoyed! Anyone interested in listening to the songs Neil sings, see below for links!
> 
> Secrets by State Champs: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pVY0G-uJCBo  
> Gone By Beth Crowley: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3SpikQ3erXM

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
